


sensorium

by ScribeOfRED



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Senses, TOS, sensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfRED/pseuds/ScribeOfRED
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an appeal to the senses</p>
            </blockquote>





	sensorium

**Author's Note:**

> think TOS, not TAG
> 
> big thanks to spacespirit and Fee for their willingness to offer feedback

.

.

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        he murmurs gentle words, reassurances instead of the orders that come so naturally to him, and you allow the rolling cadence to draw you in

        tall, broad shoulders, dimples that beg to be kissed, eyes of the most intense blue, a movie star stepped out of the screen and into your arms

        the gentle scrape of stubble against the shell of your ear as his jaw brushes close

        you fill your lungs with spicy sandalwood and something deeper, something like fresh pine and a faint, pleasant musk

        a hint of apple pie and the round richness of brandy on his breath as he tilts your head back and lowers his mouth to yours

.

.

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        the usual cutting edge to his voice gives way to a sleek, throaty purr

        quicksilver eyes trace your features, mapping you with the same intensity he maps the heavens

        his forelock curls soft against your chin as he presses kisses up and down the column of your throat, teeth and tongue grazing, nipping, teasing

        the crisp tingle of cool mint body wash mingles with zesty ozone and a lingering softness you associate with worn, well-loved leather-bound books

        his mouth hovers above yours, and you drink in the scent of light purple malbec that reminds you of starburst nebulae

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        his voice is a husky melody, heavy and rich, tantalizing whenever it fills the air, reminding you of dark chocolate with a smoky aftertaste

        soft, liquid eyes like caramelized honey linger on you for hours, occasionally sketching lines only he can see, other times still and content

        calloused fingers loop around your wrist, tugging you towards a firm body of steadfast devotion interwoven with breathtaking feats of creative flair

        you press your nose against the curve of his jaw, breathe deep the traces of oil, machine and paint, work and passion, that always cling to his skin, offset by a heady blend of honest labor sweat and a dusting of cinnamon

        he draws you into a long kiss of bittersweet coffee and warm, sweet with a tang shiraz that tastes of home

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       he has a remarkable ability to switch his voice from teasing and coy to firm commander who isn’t afraid to issue orders

       muscles quivering with strength coil beneath sun-bronzed skin, smooth but for the ropy, winding scars that tell the tale of a life almost lost

       a life you get invited to trace with your own hands, hesitant at first, until he clasps your fingers with his and guides you where he wants you to explore

       he rests his head on your shoulder, so trusting, and your nestle your nose in his hair, inhale the pleasant buzz of chlorine, the gritty warmth of ocean sand, and a lingering trace of something metallic and shimmering

       you lay a tender kiss to his temple, collect on your lips beads of sweat, salty and fresh and full of an admirable act of courage

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        he has a voice still clutching to the sharpness of youth, but more and more it’s being tempered by smooth control that knows when to ask and when to demand

       natural charisma twinkles from bright blue eyes, always so expressive, and you’re pleased to learn they’re effective at getting what they want

       strong hands wander up the back of your neck, across the line of your jaw, stroke with long fingers over cheeks and lips and the bridge of your nose, thumbs ghosting across fluttering eyelids

       you bury your nose against the inside of his wrist, taking in the tart citrus soap that can’t entirely scrub away the potent fragrance of spilled gasoline

       his lips, pouty and demanding, seek out yours to smother them a kiss ringed around the edge with a delectable savory prawn sauce and teases of chilled blonde ale that make you think of endless summer

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End file.
